


Different Names For The Same Thing

by coloursflyaway



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: “Hey, you wanna go for a drink?”, Matt asks, cutting right to the chase, and knows that the smile is colouring his words, stretching the vowels longer, filing off edges that they wouldn’t have had in the first place. “Celebrate that the right guys won the Dusty Cup for once and all that.”Pete cocks his head slightly, a gesture that Matt has never seen mean so much on other people, and even if his eyes don’t burn through Matt this time, he can still feel their gaze on him as Pete considers the offer.Just for a moment, though, and maybe Matt should be flattered by it, then he drawls, “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll meet you outside.”
Relationships: Pete Dunne/Matt Riddle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Different Names For The Same Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently can't watch three brilliant tag matches in a row without thinking about kissing.

He finds Pete in the locker room, hair frizzy and his skin still pink from exertion, from the shower he must have just taken. It’s difficult to think of him as looking soft and yet this might be the closest he has ever gotten to it, dressed in a thin button down and with his blue eyes half-lidded, lacking their usual fire.   
Even with the post-match exhaustion weighing him down, it’s enough to make Matt smile.   
“Hey, you wanna go for a drink?”, he asks, cutting right to the chase, and knows that the smile is colouring his words, stretching the vowels longer, filing off edges that they wouldn’t have had in the first place. “Celebrate that the right guys won the Dusty Cup for once and all that.”

Pete cocks his head slightly, a gesture that Matt has never seen _mean_ so much on other people, and even if his eyes don’t burn through Matt this time, he can still feel their gaze on him as Pete considers the offer.  
Just for a moment, though, and maybe Matt should be flattered by it, then he drawls, “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll meet you outside.”  
There is something in his voice that Matt cannot place, or maybe it’s in his eyes, the almost curve of his lips, but it doesn’t matter, or at least that is what Matt decides.   
“Great, bro”, he answers instead of dwelling on it any longer, sends Pete another grin, more lopsided than the one before. “Can’t wait.”

  


When Matt steps outside of the building, breathing in the fresh air, Pete is already waiting.   
His hair is tied to a neat bun, the feral wildness he brings to the ring scrubbed off his skin to leave him clean and put-together. It’s still there, though, that promise of brutality just, hidden behind the thin veneer of well-cut clothes and civility.   
Matt wouldn’t have it any other way.

Pete is busy texting, doesn’t notice him right away, so Matt takes the change to study his tag partner for another fleeting moment.   
They have never quite been friends, hardly more than co-workers, and yet Matt has always liked the other’s company, Pete’s quiet intensity, his skill, even his cockiness. It’s one of the things they have in common, Matt supposes, and wonders how it has taken them so long to figure out there might be more.

“’sup?”, he finally greets, stepping next to Pete and just so managing to stop himself from clapping a hand onto his partner’s shoulder; Pete doesn’t like to be touched, no matter if Matt has always been a tactile person. “Ready to show everyone that you really are the life of the party?”   
He’s teasing, obviously so, and for a moment Matt isn’t certain if he’s picked the right moment, the right tone, because Pete looks up at him from the screen, his eyes still unreadable. But then his lips quirk up into the tiniest smile, his eyes crinkling with what Matt thinks must be amusement.  
“Sure. _Bro_.”

He says the word like it feels foreign on his tongue, but that’s okay.   
Matt can teach him.

  


They end up in a small pub Matt has been at a few times, and a second or two after walking through the door he’s not sure anymore if it was the right choice.   
It’s slightly run down, dimly lit, the walls plastered with so many posters that the motives seem to blur together; this Pete, with his tailored jacket and his trimmed beard, suddenly doesn’t seem to fit somewhere like this. But it’s just for the moment it takes Pete to look around, shoulders squared before he visibly relaxes, tension leaving his body as he turns around to look at Matt, quirking an eyebrow as he wait for him to keep up.

Although it’s crowded, it’s almost as if this was Pete’s second home, the way he weaves through the people swarming the bar effortless, most of them stepping aside easily, as if they could sense he belongs there. And maybe it shouldn’t surprise Matt as much as it does, because there has always been an aura surrounding Pete, a magnetic kind of haughtiness that makes you believe he owns whatever room he is in, that makes it difficult to look away.

As if he knows the layout of this pub, or maybe every single one there is, Pete takes them to a little cot. It’s a little too far away from the bar for Matt’s liking but makes up for it by being secluded enough that they might just be able to talk without having to yell into each other’s ear.   
And there is beer, so really, Matt cannot complain.

“So, I’d say we rocked it back in there”, he starts once they have gotten their drinks, shooting a grin in Pete’s direction.   
Pete, who watches him over the rim of his glass the way only Pete can, a whole novel hidden behind eyes that seem almost black in the half-light.   
“Yeah”, the other finally answers, takes a sip of his bitter. “I reckon we did.”  
“Man, the Dusty Cup, can you believe it? And a chance to win the tag titles. Doesn’t even feel real.” Matt laughs softly, more to himself than anything else; Pete cocks his head, but doesn’t look away, almost as if he was trying to figure Matt out and failing.   
The shadows sharpen all his edges, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the cupid’s bow of his lips, until they seem able to cut Matt into ribbons when Pete smiles, danger seeping into his gaze.

“Not just a chance”, he tells Matt and there is nothing but certainty in his voice. “We’ll take them from those slimy little cunts. They’ve been hogging them for far too long anyway.”  
For a split second, Matt doesn’t quite know how to react, but then he chuckles, both incredulous and charmed by the other’s faith in their skill. He raises his glass, clinks it against Pete’s.   
“Hell, I’ll definitely drink to that.”

  


It’s easier than it should be to talk to Pete, even if it’s still Matt who carries most of the conversation, his tag partner occasionally adding something, answering a question, offering the rare half-smile. Pete almost looks relaxed, downs his bitter like it’s water and Matt knows he shouldn’t be impressed, but he cannot help himself. Just like he cannot help from noticing how Pete’s beard shines like copper in the dim light while the rest of him seems to be made from amber, how his monotone drawl possesses its own kind of music, if one takes the time to listen.  
They order another round, but then, with the crowd around them slowly disappearing, the bar tenders starting to shoot them barely-veiled glares, Pete finally asks what Matt hasn’t been able to bring himself to say.   
“Want to get out of here?”

There is no reason to say no, so Matt doesn’t, nods and knocks back the last sip of his beer, trying his best to ignore the feeling that is starting to well up in his chest.  
It’s too soft for regret, too sweet for sadness, not overwhelming and yet hard to forget; maybe Pete can see some of it on his face, because he lingers for just another moment before getting up, his blue eyes dark and still unreadable.

  


They pay for their drinks, or rather, Pete does – he doesn’t say a thing, just pushes away Matt’s hand when he reaches for his wallet, and although they have touched a thousand times before, it seems to Matt like he can feel the residual warmth of the other’s touch just a few moments after Pete has pulled away.   
This time they step outside together; it’s colder than before, but the fresh air feels good against Matt’s skin. He’s not drunk, just tipsy enough that his eyes stay on Pete a little too long before he can tear his gaze away.

A few strands of hair have escaped Pete’s bun, curling around sharp-cut features, his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and Matt cannot help but smile, just because surely neither of them would have pictured that this could happen just a few weeks ago. The two of them a team, winning the Dusty Cup, having a chance to challenge for the tag team titles; it’s a dream, and even if he never would have expected it, he’s glad to share it with Pete of all people.

“So, you’re gonna head home?”, he asks when his tag partner doesn’t move, just waits for him to do something. Maybe it’s the golden glow coming from the streetlights, but Pete looks softer, almost contemplative.   
He doesn’t reply straight away either, cocks his head and watches Matt for a moment, then another.   
“Nah”, he finally answers, looks away from Matt, who misses the weight of his gaze almost immediately. “It’s still too early for that, innit?”

It’s not, and they both know it, but the relief Matt feels wash over him because this insane, chaotic, wonderful night doesn’t have to end just yet is profound enough to keep him from commenting on it.   
Instead he shrugs, grins at the other and wonders how much of his feelings Pete can see on his face.   
“Sure thing, bro.”

  


Matt isn’t sure how they get to the small park, but they do; he doesn’t know the area well and he doubts Pete does either, but it doesn’t seem to matter.   
He’s perched on a picknick table, Pete on the bench below him, but the sun has not yet risen, the streetlights have not yet gone out and even if Matt knows he’ll be exhausted the next morning, it seems like a small price to pay.

“You know, I never would have expected that beer was your poison”, Pete says into the silence, looking up at Matt, and the teasing isn’t audible in his voice, but Matt can see it in his eyes, the slight upturn of his lips.   
He can’t help but chuckle; it takes a few moments of rummaging through his pockets, then he produces a joint, holding it out for Pete to take.   
“ _I_ never thought you knew me this well”, he teases right back, and it seems to work; Pete’s eyes crinkle like he is enjoying himself, and he plucks the joint right out of Matt’s fingers, skin touching skin for just a moment.  
“For what kind of a partner do you take me for?”, he asks before putting the joint between full, pink lips. He leans forward, looking up through his lashes as he waits for Matt to light it.   
Doing so shouldn’t be half as hard as it turns out to be.

As soon as the thin paper has caught on fire, Pete takes a deep drag, turning the sudden flame into embers, eyes fluttering shut momentarily.   
He’s not beautiful, but for a second Matt has to remind himself of that.

While still leaning forward, fingers clutching the lighter, he is too close, and yet, Matt cannot bring himself to pull away. Not when Pete exhales smoke as he plucks the joint from his lips to offer it up for Matt to take, not when there’s mischief hidden in his blue eyes once Pete opens them again.   
So, he doesn’t, just takes what is offered, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke burn down his throat, fill his lungs until he forgets about any other feeling that could cause his chest to constrict.

A familiar lightness floods through him, heating up the blood in his veins, time slowing down around them and every washed out colour seeming brighter, suddenly worth looking at. His mouth goes dry, his muscles relaxing; it’s only when he opens his eyes to find Pete turned away from him that Matt realises he had closed them.   
The other has leaned back against the table, shoulders slouched in a way that Matt doesn’t think he has ever seen before, as if tension he has been building up for years has left him all at once. Matt takes another drag of the joint before he hands it back to Pete.   
Again, their fingertips brush, but this time Matt doesn’t think about it for more than a split-second.

  


Silence stretches between them as they pass the joint back and forth, but it’s companionable, almost mellow in a way only a high can leave you. Matt would be happy to stay like this, maybe for this night or maybe forever, but then Pete shifts as he stubs out the joint, sighs so softly that Matt almost misses it.   
“I haven’t had this with anyone in forever, you know?”, he mutters. “This sort of chemistry in the ring. Like we just… fit together, somehow. Hell, maybe I haven’t ever had it. Not like this, at least.”   
Pete has tipped his head back so he can look at Matt, and there is something in his voice, something that Matt just cannot put his finger on, so instead he puts it on the other.   
Pushes his fingertip against that spot just next to Pete’s eyebrow, where the skin crinkles when he scowls; Pete doesn’t recoil like he usually would, but Matt is too occupied to give it a second thought.

Because Pete might be right. He’s worked well with others before, Keith, for example, teaming with Keith had always been magic, but it’s different with Pete somehow and it had been right from the start. Fluid, familiar, like they had been doing this for years and years, not just a few weeks.   
And he has heard about this feeling before and yet never believed it, can hear Kevin in his mind talking about how his life had changed the second he had stepped in the ring with Sami for the first time. That push and pull that felt so right and would do so forever, through ups and downs and everything in between.   
It’s not that, but maybe it’s close enough.

“Yeah”, he replies, realises belatedly that he is still touching Pete, tracing his fingertip along the other’s eyebrow. Realises even later that Pete still hasn’t pushed him away.   
Instead, Pete is watching him, eyes glazed and yet alert, lips parting slightly as he allows Matt to smooth his furrowed forehead with careful touches.   
“I’m kinda glad I asked you to do this with me”, Matt mutters, not sure why his voice refuses to go to its normal volume but unwilling to do anything against it. “Feels right to win it together. Will feel even better when we have those belts.”

Pete’s skin is soft under his finger and Matt allows it to trail down across the bridge of Pete’s nose, just waiting for the other to snap, pull away or push Matt off, but nothing happens. He just watches, brows furrowing once more, almost the second Matt’s finger isn’t there to smooth them, a pink tongue darting out to wet equally pink lips.   
Matt feels his mouth go dry for the second time this night.

“I might not be a good choice to have your back”, Pete says, and it sounds like an answer to a question Matt cannot remember asking. His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, but the melody clinging to it seems more pronounced like this.   
For a second, Matt considers it, strokes his finger up to Pete’s forehead once more, because letting it linger would force him to think about just what he is doing. He doesn’t know much about Pete’s past, hell, he doesn’t even know much about his present, but with Pete looking up at him with bright blue eyes, allowing Matt to learn the contours of his face, it’s impossible to bring himself to care.  
“You’ll have mine”, he tells Pete, as certain as the other was when speaking about winning the titles, lets his finger drift down the bridge of Pete’s nose again, this time not stopping but letting it drop to his mouth.   
He waits for a moment, then another, just to give the other a chance to move, before he gives in to temptation.

Pete’s lips are warm and chapped under his when Matt leans down to kiss him, part easily at the first flick of his tongue.   
It’s an awkward angle, Pete tastes like smoke and ale and it’s not like fighting at all, but they move together as easily as they do in the ring. Matt slides a hand into Pete’s hair, tilting his head further; it drags a soft sigh from Pete that Matt swallows easily, kisses right back into the other’s mouth.   
Fingers brush against Matt’s jaw, down his throat, and there is nothing he can do but deepen the kiss, find out what other sounds he can draw from Pete’s pretty lips.

Time seems to stop entirely, lost in the scratch of Pete’s beard and the slide of his lips, the lazy swipes of his tongue against Matt’s and he could lose himself in the sensations, almost does.  
But then Pete makes a noise unlike any other, breathless and needy, and Matt has to look at him more than he has to kiss him, at least for a moment.   
His lips are swollen and glisten in the dim glow of the streetlights, his hair is mussed beyond saving, and he’s still not beautiful, but this time, Matt doesn’t manage to remind himself of the fact.   
They’re both out of breath, Pete almost spread out across the table, and Matt cannot look away, cannot untangle his fingers from Pete’s hair, cannot help but lean into the touch of Pete’s fingers as they trail across his chest.

There is something he should say, Matt knows it, but his brain won’t supply the words, so he just looks at Pete, commits all the sharp, all the soft lines of his body, his face to memory, the curve of his mouth and the colour of his eyes, the strangely open look in them.   
He doesn’t look vulnerable, Matt doesn’t think he would know how to, but he looks like someone Matt could dare to kiss, so he does.   
Just for a moment, though, enough to taste the smoke on Pete’s skin, because suddenly the words are right there.

“So, you’re gonna head home?”, he asks, their lips still brushing with every word, before he pulls back, looks down at Pete, watches as realisation slowly blooms on his face, brightening his eyes, relaxing muscles that had been ready to tense again.   
“Nah”, he drawls, and this time, Matt can hear that he’s teasing, can feel it in the fingers that curl around his jaw, flit across his pulse point. “It’s still too early for that, innit?”

And maybe he even looks like someone Matt could dare to wake up next to.   
  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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